


Remember Us Scandalising Everybody? (we had some good tricks up our sleeves)

by LouStylesHTommo (Mymelodii)



Series: Dreamscape Vol.28 [3]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Accidental Plot, Age Play, Because they kinda share that really, Breaking Up & Making Up, Characters Watching The Lion King (1994), Consent is Sexy, Daddy Kink, Established Relationship, I'm Going to Hell, Implied Switching, M/M, Memories as plot device, Porn with Feelings, Size Kink, These events occurred simultaneously, Top!Harry, What Have I Done, bottom!Louis, non-au, or existence of viagra i suppose, suspension of disbelief on human stamina
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:28:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25915123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mymelodii/pseuds/LouStylesHTommo
Summary: What happened to the (un)lucky Disney Classics that day in Styles-Tomlinson family home [married playmates edition]Aka an example of how Louis & Harry keep their love alive ever since they’ve learned to talk properly—so they’ll never have to lay their torn hearts on the line due to abysmal communication skills ever again.Oh, look. Zayn cameo!Plus, a short honorary chapter dedicated to a mad woman who gave me peace.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Series: Dreamscape Vol.28 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1740700
Kudos: 15





	1. we had a marvellous time ruining lion king

While Disney seems hellbent on releasing a live-action remake for every classic animated film in its endless vault, Harry will always prefer the original ones. There’s a reason those films became classics after all. Vehement agreement from the embodiment of sunshine validates his opinion further.

“This Simba is way cuter than the other one,” Louis grumbles with extremely exaggerated aggravation, “That realistic atrocity is a worse tragedy than its Shakespearean inspiration!”

In the face of Louis’s ostentatious outrage, Harry affects a gloomy expression with his head hung low in theatrical shame, overblown dejection colouring his tone as he says, “I’m so sorry for the six excruciating seconds, baby. I should’ve looked before I pressed play on the wrong version.”

Essentially confirming that their exclusive dream team is undeniably meant to be, Louis unduly scolds him without missing a beat, “Of course, you should’ve, Harold. But you certainly didn’t.”

That’s the only warning Harry gets before nimble feet resting on his thigh suddenly kick up a violent fuss. Screeching in alarm, Harry snatches sock-cladded weaponry of Louis’s realistic mock tantrum right before they could inadvertently hit him in the face. Falsely furious and deceptively strong, his tiny person starts shouting profanities and thrashing all four limbs wildly for freedom.

Full of optimism, Harry lets go of slipping socks and quickly catches hold of flailing ankles instead, yelling a rather premature “Gotcha!” before he leverages his grip to basically fold his feisty spouse’s small frame in half and cages Louis in with the weight of his upper body.

Really, it’s only fair that he gets to reap all the benefits of Louis’s flexibility, given that Harry has been the one to successfully convince his petite darling to practice yoga together on a regular basis.

(And if Louis has committed to a training routine from a youth football summer camp that happens to include top-notch stretching exercises as warm-up and cool-down long before he even met Harry, it’s neither here nor there.)

“Get off me, you barbarian,” fumes Louis unconvincingly. Still playfully struggling to break free, the most insolent captive gives Harry the least threatening glare and pretends to shove him a couple of times. Harry grins at the lack of actual force and doesn’t budge an inch until his lovely prisoner of war pouts dramatically at the supposed futility of it all.

“Fine. You got me. Now what?”

Louis fails miserably at hiding fondness in his tone. Harry hums happily and knows for a fact that he himself sounds like a lovesick fool too, “Now I get to decide what to do with you.”

Louis goes all soft smile and pliant beneath him as Harry ponders aloud thoughtfully, “Should I tie you up to make sure you can’t runaway the first chance you get? Or should I treat you real nice to give you a Stockholm’s Syndrome of epic proportions?”

Harry is instantly subjected to Louis’s smouldering bedroom eyes and he can’t help but feel absolutely enchanted.

“There’s nothing stopping you from doing both, Haz.”

With the love of his life beckoning him like a wicked temptress, Harry swoops in for an enthralling kiss. His hands slip underneath his captured darling’s knitted jumper to caress soft skin fondly.

Big, big mistake.

No longer as restricted, Louis swiftly wraps his legs around his captor’s neck, locking ankles behind broad back, effectively trapping Harry as good as he’s pinning Louis down.

Their provocative kiss ends as soon as Harry realises what just happened. He gapes at his sneaky hostage in overplayed disbelief and exclaims in a horrible falsetto, “You tricked me with your eyes! What kind of sorcery is this?”

Gorgeous blue eyes sparkle with uncontainable glee. “You’re a wizard, Harry,” teases Louis, referencing his exploitable keeper’s namesake. “You should’ve known that _it's a spell that can't be broken. It'll keep you up all night. Boy, you belong to me. I’ve got the recipe and it’s called Black Magic_ ,” singsongs Louis delightedly.

His angel’s melodic voice is the most magical sound in the world and Harry doesn’t regret being the most gullible jailer of all time one bit. He is so far gone for his wonderfully cheeky spouse who just invoked their not-so-newly-minted rights to quote lyrics excessively pre-/mid-/post-coitus, which is admittedly equivalent to all the time they’re in the same room. Harry wants to smooch him senseless.

But since Louis honours their agreement on ‘Every Private Moment is a Fair Game for Song Reference Unless Specified Otherwise’, Harry should first give as good as he gets.

“Then we are at an impasse. However, _don't matter what you say. Don't matter what you do. I only wanna do bad things to you. So good, that you can’t explain_ —”

Louis cuts his husband off with a resounding kiss that is instantly reciprocated and enthusiastically repeated. Before long, with his beloved Hazza’s proprietary hands groping him nonstop while their silly smackers morph into a proper French kiss, Louis’s legs lose their strong hold. He slips them off strong shoulders and loops adoring arms around his husband’s neck in their place.

Harry smiles into their next kiss as his sweet darling tangles gentle fingers in his hair. He dutifully follows Louis’s nudge and moves on to enticing throat. There he works diligently to give his sultry spouse a series of love bites, hearing pleased sighs as a reward. Harry also gets a breathy reminder that “Haz” is not only short for “Hazza” but also refers to Louis’s “my heart” and “my husband”, both of which never fail to make Harry extremely happy and really proud. Best of all, he gets to listen to Louis crooning their old favourite song.

“ _Circle me and the needle moves gracefully back and forth, if my heart was a compass you'd be North_.”

Nostalgia greets Harry like an old friend, reminding him of how they started calling each other home with permanent ink on their skins.

(Harry had thought the portmanteau of their names was a delightful fan creation. It gave him an idea that he could have ‘just a ship’ permanently branded onto his skin. The idea soon materialised in the middle of the night after he came home from a pap walk and Louis blanched at the smell of someone else’s perfume on his clothes.

When his then-boyfriend fell asleep with tearstained cheeks, Harry went to the best parlour in LA and chose his most intricate tattoo to-date on impulse. Because he needed to reassure Louis somehow. Just like Louis did for him with a concise tweet that had gone viral in an instant.

Harry had thought about their performance around the globe with their best friends, how Louis smiled brighter than the sun when the crowds cheered for One Direction, how Louis sang like an angel on stage and then talked everyone’s ears off backstage about Harry entertaining fans like a rockstar.

He still remembered how they kept pushing two single beds in their hotel room together stubbornly until their team relented and gave them a room with one big bed for every concert since then, how they huddled together under a shared blanket so they could trade each whisper of all their hopes and dreams quietly like the most sacred secret, how Louis cuddled him close and made every night feel like home no matter where in the world they were.

So while it might not be as sweet as [Always in my heart @Harry_Styles . Yours sincerely, Louis], the sentiment was the same when Harry told the tattoo artist, “We’re always on the road but my heart is at home and I want a ship.”

He didn’t expect what he had said to be so memorable that his tattoo artist could recite it word for word to a journalist months later while making it abundantly clear to her that Harry’s ship certainly wasn’t a homage to his PR girlfriend. But then again, Louis had made everything about Harry’s ship tattoo unforgettable by deliberately reciprocating his impulse the very next night, at the very same place, with the very same tattoo artist.

A clever compass whose North got replaced by Home managed to elevate Larry Stylinson status from a cutesy OTP to an actual conspiracy theory in the midst of their first intensive PR stunts for mainstream media.

The worse those invented storylines, the better Louis’s shrewd retaliations. Like when he sent the entire fandom into a collective meltdown by spectacularly backstabbing his own alter ego on the internet with an IRL dagger tattoo.

Or when Louis performed solo music from his debut album in front of a live audience for the first time, killed it, and left everyone for dead as a tribute to Princess Park.

Harry can’t wait for the extravaganza of Louis making good on his t-shirt promise that everyone saw while they witnessed Louis obliterating the recipient of the message: No matter how hard you try, you can’t stop me now.)

“Hazza, stop. Enough with the love-bites. Babe, c’mon. I’m not literally edible,” Louis whines, tugging Harry’s hair repeatedly and bringing him back from reminiscing. Recognising his small spouse’s almost imperceptible wince of pain, Harry realises he may have got too carried away. One look at the necklace of bruises around Louis’s throat confirms his preoccupation.

“You’re okay? I’m sorry, honey, I wasn’t paying attention. Walked too far down memory lane, didn’t mean to hurt you with too many love-bites. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, babe. Don’t worry. You stopped pretty much as soon as I asked,” reassures Louis while his husband nuzzles his temple in apology, “and I wanted them. Just not on the same spot twice right away that’s all.” With his long eyelashes fluttering against Harry’s cheek in butterfly kisses, Louis adds softly, “No need to apologise, Haz. It’s nice to know you still can’t get enough of me. Even after all this time.”

It’s impossible to adequately articulate his brimming affection and gratitude for his sweet spouse, but Harry tries his best to tell Louis as reverently as he can.

“I love you.”

Louis meets his gaze with a smile so private and contented before Harry receives the most endearing reply.

“I know, always.”

Not knowing how else to express overwhelming joy, Harry resumes lavishing his beautifully responsive darling with worshipful touch and adoring kisses. Before long, they start rocking their entwined bodies together without so much of a conscious thought, resulting in a fully-clothed imitation of the consummation of their marriage.

Their heated heavy petting session continues on and on. Harry pulls away from their mutual kisses only to sit up and gather Louis into his arms once again, perching the love of his life on his lap so his roaming hands can cover more ground so to speak.

But instead of canoodling with Louis some more, Harry stops and stares.

His spouse is a stunning vision.

With glistening ripe red lips, promising proven taste of ambrosia, and half-lidded blue eyes, divulging deadly seductive desire—Louis is a living, breathing vivid work of arts—that would rightfully belong in the most sought-after renaissance painting.

Harry wants to show off his captivating creature at _Musée du Louvre_ and _Galleria Borghese_. Let everyone adore _{L'amour de ma vie}_ in Paris and admire _{L'amore della mia vita}_ in Rome to their hearts’ content. But no one would be allowed to touch the marvellous _{Portrait de Louis}_ or the magnificent _{Ritratto di Luigi}_ with their impertinent hands.

Louis knows from his husband’s intense stare that Harry is lost in dreamland once more. It’s pretty funny to be on the receiving end and see it in action time and time again. Louis remembers how their fans called it ‘creepy love stare’ which he found hilarious while Harry sulked about it for days, until Louis told his then-boyfriend the reason why he couldn’t return even a single glance sometimes.

Louis had a really hard time keeping his composure and not dissolving into laughter every time he sensed Harry’s creepy love stare because all he could hear then was the Dexter meme man on Vine going, ‘[Heart eyes, motherfucker.](https://youtu.be/leeP6LgM8H0)’

Louis tries to get his husband’s attention back to right here, right now, by poking Harry’s dimples and pinching his cheeks because Louis knows very well how fixated his imaginative Hazza can be, so it usually takes more than just a teasing comment to get through.

“Take a picture, babe, it’ll last longer.”

“I rather have you painted by numbers and put both of you behind bulletproof glass.”

Louis tries not to snicker at his husband’s wacky response while Harry restarts fondling him with presumptuous hands.

“What on earth are you talking about? Haz, I’m the only one of me.”

Then Louis can no longer suppress his laughter when Harry just kind of hums _‘baby, that’s the fun of me’_ in lieu of an answer and carries on as if he didn’t just spend three whole minutes staring at Louis like he was looking for the Answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, The Universe, and Everything.

(He won’t find it. Yet. Louis has 14 more years to go. Fortunately, his husband would definitely understand the reference if Louis says it out loud. Otherwise, they’d end up with a tragic divorce. Actually, they probably wouldn’t have got on like a house on fire in the first place, so their marriage would’ve been just a pipe dream. Not that reading all of the books beside each other’s bed is a requirement. But the avid readers in both of them agree that not listening to one another excitedly sharing non-spoiler things from their favourite books is a major red flag.)

In this new position, it’s easier for Harry to caress Louis’s back, so he traces his fingers down to the bottom of his _piccolo tesoro_ ’s spine, while his saucy spouse giggles and attempts to leave a _succhiotto_ under his jawline at the same time. Harry proceeds to knead his _petit chéri_ ’s irresistible _derrière_ amorously, hoping to get a sweet moan of appreciative approval in return.

/HELP!/

They’re both startled so badly that their flinches almost take them off the sofa. Their only saving grace comes from too many times leaving each other’s orbit lightning fast in front of cameras. Harry clutches the armrest behind his back, gaping at his disheveled spouse in wide-eyed confusion. Louis seems just as bewildered, blinking at Harry from the other end of the sofa and fidgeting with the collar of his jumper to cover a very visible trail of fresh love-bites on his neck.

/SOMEBODY!/

They whip around at the same time to see crying Simba and dead Mufasa on the TV screen. Harry is immediately close to tears from Pavlovian response to the stampede scene without even actually watching it. But Louis shatters the most emotional moment in the film by muttering, “Fucking Scar’s ruining it for everybody. Everybody. Including me and my extremely adorable husband.”

Said extremely adorable husband, who is rescuing the remote wedged between sofa cushions to lower the volume back down, goes from having teary eyes to snorting laughter. On TV, it’s a depressing scene of blatant manipulation. In Louis’s incensed tirade, it’s too funny to look away from.

Harry surreptitiously reaches for his phone and hits record, planning on sending it to their closest friends who used to witness their domestic insanity all the time. He briefly wonders about the status of a tally made by Niall on the number of times Harry has texted him [Sorry not sorry for hoarding Lou. Again.]

(Liam would’ve been counting with Niall too, if it weren’t for him already hoarding Harry’s then-fiancé in so many writing sessions, and thus had gotten thrown into the doghouse alongside Harry. Lucky Payno only escaped the wrath of Nialler’s resentful tally because he had the excuse of stealing Louis’s time for work and work only.)

Harry’s now-legally-binding-spouse is currently cancelling an animated villain six ways to Sunday.

“I hate you and your stupid face,” Louis delivers furiously, pointing an accusing finger at Scar on the screen. “I hope you rot in hell, you ugly murderer. What kind of person kill their own brother and put a kill order on his kid? Oh that’s right, you’re not a person. You’re just a disgrace to lions everywhere.”

“You are so hot when you’re angry, baby,” muses Harry. “I think I might get a really inappropriate hard-on the next time I see Simba’s dad falling off the cliff.”

Harry really should’ve known his naughty dearest whose mischievous streak knows no bounds would take it as a challenge. Because Louis immediately snatches up the remote, rewinds the film, looks right into the camera, and brazenly declares, “Only one way to find out.”

That’s how Harry finds himself seeing stars as Pumbaa and Timon teach their adopted lion cub how to deal with trauma. His amazing spouse hums along the beginning of a merry tune with Harry’s really inappropriate hard-on fitting snugly inside his very nice and toasty throat. Crimson lips look so pretty wrapped around his cock, Harry can’t help but wish he could kiss them and receive a mind-blowing blowjob at the same time.

It’s almost like Louis can hear his thoughts as incredibly talented mouth pops off and Harry gets a lapful of supple spouse to snog again. But instead of making out with him properly, Louis gives him a quick kiss and says,

“Babe, don’t you think it’d be funny if we have a follow-up to my verbal abuse on cartoon character and prank our best friends with it?”

Not knowing what to expect, Harry arches his eyebrows, questioning, “How so, baby?”

“We tape the TV and make a suspicious noise, insinuating that I just legit suck you off to Hakuna Matata. Decimate their childhood innocence,” Louis expounds, “I mean, we can no longer watch this film from the biggest tearjerker to the most lighthearted scene in good conscience. So we might as well make sure nobody will choose it for movie night. Wouldn’t dare to ruin the reunion with our steamy disappearance, would they?”

Astounded by Louis’s risqué scheme, Harry stares in amazement as his incorrigible little monster adds conspiratorially, “Besides, if they watch the clips with someone else in the room, it’d be like a miniature episode of that one time Zayn walked in on us and screamed his head off about a giant spider of all things.”

Harry guffaws instantaneously, flashing back to how poor unfortunate Zayn also shattered an expensive cologne bottle against the wall in a blind panic because there were six people about thirteen steps behind him in the hallway and the room ‘smelled like a sex dungeon. Stop forgetting to lock the goddamn door, you idiots.’

“So, what do you say?” Louis asks, voice saccharine. Harry receives butterfly kisses and a wilfully suggestive “Please say yes” from the cutest prankster of all time, as additional incentives. As if Harry needs any more persuasion to indulge his impish spouse’s every whim.

“Alright, baby. For old times’ sake. Even if they should all learn by now to never open any video files from you while they’re in public ever again. Ever.”

Louis gives him a roguish smile.

“Which is exactly why we will be sending them from your phone, Hazza.”

(Neither of them knows it yet. But their future selves will repurpose this very snippet vindictively, giving their best friends another reason to laugh hysterically at the complete madness in their household.)

After sending a mildly exhibitionistic and a lot amusing gift to the trio of their favourite victims, Louis smothers his grinning husband with hearty smackers as a reward for cooperation. Fully aware that the stiffened inappropriateness he has caused is still very firmly present, Louis suggests between each animated kiss,

“Babe, would you like me to finger myself open for you?.. I can do that and keep the blowjob going.. Get myself ready and keep you warm.. so you can fuck me whenever you feel like it.”

No chance Harry is going to reject such an irrefutable offer. But when it comes to his spouse giving him an inch, Harry will always take a mile.

“Yes, please.. Can I have a closeup look too?”

As long as Louis agrees to it, of course.

“Yes, Hazza.. Anything else you’d like, babe? Tell me.”

“Can I help?”

“Define help, Haz.”

Not willing to give up resounding kisses from his affectionate spouse, Harry scrabbles for their hidden stash of lube—which must be somewhere behind the sofa cushion they’re snuggling on—without looking away from Louis’s fond smile as he clarifies,

“Can I lick around your fingers, please? Eat you out a little?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Given Louis’s permission, Harry will take everything he can get.

“Can I add my fingers alongside yours, baby? Open you up proper?”

Harry asks then puckers his lips to get his spouse to kiss him some more and his doting darling does so obligingly.

“I mean.. I know how to prep myself proper.. especially for your cock,” Louis chuckles and then keeps on indulging his wheedling husband with a figurative green light and more kisses, “but sure, babe.. whatever makes you happy.”

“So.. we can try holding hands and finger-fuck you together all the way through?”

Louis pauses and looks at his husband in slight confusion. They hold hands while engaging in all sort of sexual activities all the time.

“You mean like, using the fingers of the hands we’re holding to fuck me together? We’ve done it so many times before. Why would that require trying?”

“You’ve never had six or seven fingers inside before,” explains Harry distractedly, focusing more on hunting down the elusive lube bottle now that he’s not getting kissed. “That’s experimental.”

“Oh,” Louis replies breathlessly, stomach swooping with surge of sensual desire. “You mean, opening me up proper all the way through together, as in—as if only one of us is doing it but we both do it at the same time—with three of your fingers and three, or four, of mine?”

“Yup!” confirms Harry triumphantly, coordinating his popping ‘P’ with the sound of bottle cap flipping open. Then he proudly presents his spouse with the label on his find to prove that the lube is, in fact, their favourite kind.

Louis is so, so in love with Harry. So far gone for this boy that he thinks Harry’s comical antics are ridiculously endearing. So smitten with this person that he finds Harry’s unapologetic confirmation of a raunchy request ridiculously charming. So turned on by this man that he believes Harry’s experiment will give him a ridiculously good time, no matter what. So much so that his response comes out sounding ridiculously pornographic, both in words and the way Louis moans them keenly,

“Babe, we’ve never even tried fisting before and that’s five fingers. I’m not saying no. We can try. But, Haz, I don’t think it’ll fit.”

Without delay, Harry demonstrates that his stunningly sexy spouse isn’t the only person in this marriage who can turn a statement into a hedonistic challenge by announcing cheerfully, “Only one way to find out.”

That’s how Louis ends up draping bonelessly on top of the best husband in the whole wide world. The one and only who has taken it upon himself to make sure Louis stay loose-limbed and in the mood after a sweet, sweet orgasm. With his gentle fingers, his wicked tongue, and just.

His entire existence in general, really.

Their great experiment has failed and resulted in Louis feeling absolutely treasured and truly adored. Satiated for the time being, Louis languidly plays with his husband’s handsomest cock in all the land.

So hot and heavy in his hands.

So silky and tasty on his tongue.

So hard and massive in his mouth.

It’s a tragedy that Louis can’t have this gorgeous rigid shaft magically filling him up in all the right places all at once. They really shouldn’t have dismissed so many DIY willy cloning kits so quickly. Though it’s understandable why Harry is legitimately concerned and therefore reluctant to make another copy of Louis’s favourite dick.

(They both know it will render their two-week rule entirely pointless. Because Harry will pick up the phone on Day 5 and drop everything to come home.

Because Louis will get himself into a sub-drop like an absolute moron. Because Harry will spend his entire flight frantic with worry about Louis’s wellbeing or, heaven forbid, lack thereof.

Because Louis will think it’s fine to be imaginative and daydream about his wonderful Hazza, in extensive explicit details while getting off on the exact replica of his husband’s cock all by himself, when it’s actually seriously not. Because Harry will give Louis as much aftercare as possible through video call en route to help him float down from sub-space, but it will be nowhere near enough.

Because Louis will be too stubborn to admit he maybe shouldn’t have done that until it’s way too late and he’s already lost in the scene. Because Harry will never forget how helpless it feels to be thousands of miles away when Louis crashes, sobbing like an abandoned child into the phone ‘cause daddy fucked Lou last night but this morning daddy’s not home.

This is a hypothetical scenario, of course. Louis would never make the same mistake twice. He just needs to figure out how to convince his husband to reveal the whereabouts of the mysteriously missing penis clone, or agree to make a new one. Now that Louis has enough self-control to pick a different silicon dildo, if needed, and avoid accidentally starting an intense scene without telling Harry first.)

“Isn’t it great we don’t have to migrate to the bedroom?” Harry murmurs, taking credit for restocking the lube after he found the avocado oil one hidden behind a pickle jar. He continues slowly scissoring his four fingers clutched inside his spouse’s wet warmth, gently massaging his thumb into and out of his sweetheart’s yielding heat, never pushing pass the first knuckles. Mindfully persistent. Harry savours the thought that Louis is his to love and care for. That Louis trusts him implicitly. That Louis wants to be his in every possible way. That Louis’s tender rim has such a befitting Pantone colour, Paradise-Pink for Stairway to Heaven.

Harry stifles a chuckle at his own brain taking over sappy thoughts with a lewd joke and makes a mental note to tell Louis about it later. Then he groans in appreciation as his lovely spouse swallows around his cock, sucking him off properly once again after a brief pause to answer him dreamily, “Yeah, it is. Really great. Thanks, babe. You’re amazing. Good lube choice too. Won’t find this one in the kitchen cabinet like the other day. Promise.” 

(Harry knows that Louis thought he had no one to blame but himself for his predicament in bed that day. Harry also knows better than to ever admit that he had chosen to put the wrong lube in their sofa stash on purpose, betting on Louis misbehaving like an unruly child instead of telling Harry to knock it off. His little darling has always loved causing troubles and giddily anticipating a good punishment.

That morning, Harry tied each delicate wrist and ankle together, left to left and right to right, leaving Louis with little leverage while ensuring that he could still spread his thighs apart. When Louis woke up and realised Harry had discovered his defiant deed, he did exactly that, offering up wholehearted consent and blatant invitation with plenty of space between his legs.

Harry spent a lot of time occupying that space throughout the day whenever he fucked his especially submissive spouse. The first time was face-to-face, deep and slow. He whispered doting praises all the while in order to quickly overwhelm his sweet sunflower, waxing lyrical about how Lou took daddy’s cock so well, how Lou felt searingly exquisite inside, how daddy wanted to make love to Lou all day long and all through the night.

Their second shag of the day was still just as sweet but with a sharp twist. Harry spooned and fucked his little darling from behind, periodically switching from caressing Lou tenderly to handing out a quick spanking. All the while he kept telling Lou how nice it felt when Lou tightened up around daddy’s cock, how daddy thought of Lou as his only angel, how daddy couldn’t imagine a life without Lou, how daddy vowed to love Lou forever.

From lustful fawning to genuine promises, he relentlessly continued to drown Lou in ocean of utter adoration with carefully chosen words, all the while deluging all of Lou’s physical senses with one wicked way after another.

Lou’s actual punishment wasn’t the bondage or the prostrate vibrator that Harry used to plug up his come inside Lou and keep Lou constantly on edge between each round. It was the gag in Lou’s mouth, making sure that Lou couldn’t talk back. Lou cried because no matter how much Lou wanted to, Lou couldn’t say how Lou loved daddy so so so much, couldn’t give a promise to love daddy forever and ever too.

Before the third time, daddy carried Lou to the living room so his sweetheart could see from there that he was just making food and not going anywhere.

Lou nodded obediently when daddy asked if Lou would be okay with a blindfold and nodded again when daddy asked Lou to promise not to say anything even without the gag. Lou kept quiet as daddy took off the gag and closed his eyes as daddy put the blindfold on him.

Daddy proceeded to hand-feed Lou bite-sized tacos, one of Lou’s favourites. Then daddy made sure Lou drink enough water, untied Lou’s wrists and ankles, rubbed soothing ointment on all four of them, and took care of Lou’s overall wellbeing.

After all of Lou’s basic needs were met, daddy took Lou back to bed then asked if Lou could tell how much daddy adored Lou and that none of the punishment meant daddy would ever love Lou any less, to both of which Lou nodded decisively.

Even though daddy didn’t retie Lou, or gag Lou again, Lou still had the blindfold on and wasn’t allowed to say anything. So Lou kept clinging on tight to daddy and tried not to make a sound as daddy started fucking Lou harder than the first two times. But daddy paused soon after, gently told Lou to stop biting his own lips, and added an exception to the no-talking rule.

So Lou moaned and mewled for daddy while daddy kept fucking Lou harder, still doting on Lou with sweet words. Like, even if Lou wasn’t a sexy sloppy seconds anymore, daddy still loved his divine dirty thirds just the same.

However, daddy turned real mean as soon as Lou wasn’t a fetching floppy fourths anymore. Because Lou had just reached his first orgasm that night, clenching and rippling around daddy’s cock in electrifying rhythm as daddy was coming inside Lou. Without waiting for daddy’s say-so.

Daddy gripped Lou’s hip so possessively that daddy’s handprints stayed on Lou’s skin like a brand of ownership. At the same time, daddy growled that the consideration to tug off the pretty bow around Lou’s pretty cock—during a punishment—wouldn’t even cross daddy’s mind the next time daddy caught Lou misbehaving. Because Lou had just displayed the complete lack of discipline and self-control.

Daddy punished Lou with twenty-eight consecutive spanks and made Lou counted them. Then daddy chose the highest setting on the vibrator and pushed it against Lou’s sopping wet rim. But daddy didn’t fuck Lou with it, just kept it there as a reminder to make sure Lou really feel the acute emptiness inside.

Eventually, daddy called Lou a flaunty filthy fifths and then gave Lou a brutal fuck. Squelchy obscene noises competed with Lou’s shuddering sobs as daddy kept on fucking Lou like a savage. So rough with Lou that it seemed almost as if daddy wanted it to hurt. But daddy also gave Lou a provisional permission, allowing Lou to come as many times as Lou wanted.

After Lou climaxed again, daddy darkly pointed out in lurid details how Lou was so greedy for daddy’s cock that Lou still kept his pretty thighs spread wide open, even though daddy had been giving it to Lou over and over again for hours now.

Even after daddy had already left so much slippery mess inside Lou that every jarring thrust led to more evidence of their coupling dribbling down Lou’s legs.

Even with mixture of lube and spunk continually seeping out around their most intimate carnal connection as daddy’s pulsating cock filled Lou up further inside.

Even after daddy had already ruined Lou’s tight little hole so thoroughly that when daddy pulled out, Lou’s dripping wet rim gaped cutely for a short while.

Even when daddy had already used Lou as a personal receptacle so many times that Lou’s body looked less innocent than one of a common whore after a company of sleazy clients.

Lou abruptly broke all their rules at once, right before their second-to-last round that night, as soon as daddy asked mockingly what adjectives sounded good for a slutty sixths.

Lou ripped the blindfold off himself without permission. Then Lou would’ve clawed vicious lines down daddy’s arms and chest, if his nails weren’t bitten short with nerve all the time. Lou would’ve also hurt daddy with his little fists raining down hit after hit, if it’s weren’t for the powerlessness behind them all. Working himself into a frenzy of distressed anger, Lou put up a fight in daddy’s forceful embrace, shrieking a stricken “Take it back! Take it back! I’m not! I’m not a slut! You promised! You promised I’m not a slut, daddy! You promised I’m not! Daddy! You promised!”

“Enough!”

Daddy snarled. Lou froze in a split second.

Before his spoiled little tyke could start another rotten outburst, daddy growled a stern reprimand, admonishing his blue-eyed boy for acting out and falsely accusing daddy of breaking a promise. Not once had daddy directly called Lou a slut tonight. They had never made an agreement beforehand that semantics counted.

Lou let his whole body go limp, closed his eyes, and whimpered an utterly desolate “sowwy dada.”

“Oh, poppet.”

Daddy’s tone softened immediately as littlest Loubear snivelled. Outpouring of piteous tears soaked through the pillow quickly, even as daddy began using pet names like sweetheart and honey once again. Littlest Loubear cried his eyes out as daddy kept cooing soothingly and softly stroking his hair.

Finally, when Lou started whimpering and apologising in sentences again, daddy affirmed that Lou would never be a slut. Not even daddy’s cruel punishment could change the fact that no one but daddy ever experienced the pleasure of seeing Lou in tears from overwhelming orgasmic ecstasy. And if anyone were to be so stupid as to force themselves on Lou for a shot at this sight, daddy would hire an assassin to wipe them off the face of the earth in a heartbeat. 

Harry could say he was surprised when a few nights later Louis made him role-play a mafia boss.

He could say he was taken aback when his sweet spouse proceeded to handcuff him to the bedpost and call him all sort of degrading names.

He could say he didn’t expect Louis to take a turn being distinctly dominant or to go all out with the muzzle, the collar, the cock cage, and the penknife.

Harry could say a lot about never anticipating his vengeful ‘mortal enemy’ to fuck him for revenge quite so literally. But all of it would be such a boldfaced lie.)

Actually, Harry is a little bit more surprised when Louis turns his attention back to the film right after he has just finished turning all of Harry’s braincells into happy peachy haphazard pile of grateful goo. Harry only listens and nods agreeably as the angel he married tells him in no uncertain terms that they must rewind the film because skipping the scene Simba and Nala reunite is a crime. That it is imperative that they move the furniture so they can dance when _disaster’s in the air_.

So Harry gets up and gets the coffee table out of the way. Because whatever Louis wants, Louis gets. It’s also the only movable piece of furniture in their living room. Then he comes back to Louis adorably standing on the sofa, waiting for him with open arms and sweater paws. Harry can tell that his playful spouse is trying to hide a smile behind a supposedly stern order from a superior position, “Twirl me like you did the first time but better.”

“Your wish is my command, honey,” Harry says and means every word. His golden sunshine knows it too. It’s easy to tell from the way Louis beams with happiness as Harry lifts him off the sofa and spins him around.

Whenever they slow-dance, it’s inevitable that they end up getting lost in each other’s eyes, creating their own little bubble where everything else ceases to exist, holding one another close, and realising the song is over long after it actually did.

“I love you.”

Louis tells Harry quietly because saying these three words outside the sanctuary of their bedroom walls still feels like he’s asking for troubles, like he’s daring ghosts from the past to jump out at him and slash his invisible scars open anew.

It’s genuinely baffling that Louis has no problem with giving their best friends TMI on their sex lives as a prank but has to consciously take steady deep breaths to fend off a sudden panic after saying three simple words.

Louis knows his attentive husband can feel him trembling with completely irrational fear. It seems far-fetched now that Louis used to think nobody would ever understand. Especially when Harry tightens his arms around Louis and whispers how he is so proud of Louis for being brave, for never giving up on trying again and again, for being “so strong for us for so long.”

(All it takes for Harry to understand, and for Louis to be fearless long enough to try, was one conversation, albeit a very difficult one. As terrified of a love lost and as hopeful for a new future together, they had both shown their hands and laid all their cards on the table, taking turns feeling almost too petrified to look up and see if this question—or answer—would be the one to break them irreparably.

By the time there was only one last most painful thought left unsaid in his mind, Harry felt completely drained. Too exhausted to reprimand himself for blaming Louis when he himself was the first one to walk away and leave them both with broken hearts, he told Louis why. 

“Three weeks before we broke up, I realised you never said you loved me anymore unless sex was involved.”

Harry paused, biting his lips as if to stop the words from leaving his mouth, but they had promised each other absolute honesty at the very beginning of this devastating conversation, so, “I didn’t want to believe it at first, so I decided to tally up the number of times you told me ‘I love you’ when we weren’t having sex.” His hands started to shake visibly as he recalled how hurtful their last few days together were.

“Turned out I didn’t have any to count.”

Right on cue, his tears began free-falling onto his shirtsleeves. Harry hurried through the rest of his explanation before he couldn’t speak without bawling like a baby, “I didn’t want to scream at you like a madman that you needed to stop stringing me along and treating me like a plaything at your disposal. But I couldn’t stand the thought of hearing you say you’re not in love with me anymore either. So instead of talking to you like a normal person, I walked out on us like a knobhead because I didn’t want you to do it first.”

Then Harry just cried without making a single sound while Louis felt numb from head to toes as realisation sank in. His vision blurred with tears as he remembered all those nights he had spent muffling his own anguished sob against his tall little spoon’s back, falling apart after days of cold shoulders, clinging to the person who had made him feel like a discarded toy.

Wretched truth was that the both of them had got silently crying and dismal communication skills practically down to an art form.

Louis had seen it coming when Harry broke up with him that fateful day, placating him with a cruel promise to stay friends while casually tearing Louis’s whole world apart. Although foresight hadn’t made it hurt any less, hindsight, on the other hand, might kiss it better.

“I’m sorry that I hurt you,” Louis whispered. “It’s my fault for turning the littlest thing into such a godforsaken drama. I swear I never stop wanting to say those three words to you but I couldn’t stand the thought of them being on the list of things we weren’t, aren’t allowed to say. ”

Harry could hear the quiver in Louis’s voice as his ex tried to tell another side of their history. And he’d be damned if thinking of Louis as an ex didn’t hurt worse than anything that came before.

“We’re always surrounded by people. Some of them stay in the room to keep an eye on us. Some of them are going to barge in unannounced. Most of them will tell someone else if they see or hear us do something we shouldn’t do, either seriously or in jest. All of it put one more of our little things in jeopardy. Too many are already at the mercy of a psychopath’s hand.”

It was like a floodgate had been opened and Louis couldn’t stop spilling one of his biggest stupidest fears, “I just figured these three words are too important so I should make sure to only say them to you when no one else was around to hear. Then there was this one time I thought we were home alone, but everyone heard me in your radio interview. And I know this is a horrible excuse for blowing things out of proportion. But I got scared. Really scared. All I thought of was how I couldn’t afford to slip up, couldn’t let anyone have our—”

Feeling chilled to the bone, Louis’s entire body trembled as he choked out, “—I love you.”

Sudden recognition hit Harry like a gunshot to the heart. The last time he saw Louis this way was during a dreadful phone call with their handler whereon Louis desperately needed the confirmation that kissing someone else at midnight was all Harry had to do. Louis couldn’t bring himself to ask her if Harry could come home on those nights and risk hearing a ‘No.’ So the halting question had been if Harry could crash on Ed’s sofa the night before and after New Year’s Eve. Then Louis shook like a leaf while listening to the answer.

Just like before, Harry desperately wanted to soothe the hurt and keep Louis warm in his arms. Unlike before, all Harry could do was look on helplessly with regret tasting like ashes in his mouth. Because he had acted like a complete imbecile and made sure that Louis wasn’t his to have and to hold anymore.

“I know it sounds like bullshit. But I’ve been so terrified of somebody else taking these three words of ours away, I never realised I was taking them away from you too. And I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry that I made you feel like you were’t important to me.”

The more Louis said, the worse his shivers became. His teeth clattered as if he had been left out in the cold for far too long. When he was really young, his school nurse called it a psychosomatic response to stress and his mom renamed it ‘Boobear needs a hug and needs it now.’ At the tender age of six, Louis had already made sure that all his friends took his prescription seriously and that his best mate took great pride in both running to the rescue and preemptively administering a daily dose of cuddle.

Louis was a lot better at telling others exactly what he needed as a kid than as an adult. Because for the first time in forever, Louis let himself come undone in front of the person who might’ve never left him in pieces if Louis had just said what was on his mind.

“I’m not blaming you for walking away. But when we broke up, I didn’t understand what went wrong. You just started to ignore me, treated me like I was nothing, and then threw me away. If I’m wrong—if I’m not a stitched up token of old clothes you don’t feel like wearing anymore—can you give me a cuddle? Because I really want to stop feeling like a worthless rag doll now.”

There was a scraping of chairs then Louis found himself a lot closer to the kitchen tiles, enfolded in a painfully familiar hug, surrounded by unmistakable scent of the perfume he had picked out for his ex months ago—back when they were still together.

Back when their highest hopes weren’t made of shattered dreams.

Harry whimpered almost unintelligibly into his ear. But Louis had been listening to this beautiful boy for a long time. So, even if they both evidently hadn’t been speaking enough, Louis still heard his remedy loud and clear.

“You’re everything to me. Please don’t call yourself worthless again. You’re the love of my life. No one can take that away. I won’t let them. No matter what they add on to their stupid list. I love you. I’ll keep saying these three words for as long as I live and mean it every time. Even if I get into troubles for it. Even if you can’t say it back. I love you. I swear I love you. Please let me show you. If you still love me, please let me be yours again. Please say yes. Please answer me just this once.”

Then for the first time ever, Harry learnt that when he needed reassurance, all he had to do was ask Louis a simple question quietly. He’d get the same soft, sweet, heartwarming, touching, and comforting answer—anytime.

“Do you still love me?”

“Yeah. Yes, I do. Always. I never stop, never will.”)

Every walk down the memory lane always reminds Harry of how incredibly lucky he is to have Louis in his arms. Still. After everything they’ve put each other through. After every heartbreak they’ve endured. Because they’ve always chosen, time and time again, to follow up every single one of their “I’m sorry” with an “I love you.” 

”Thank you for choosing me, Lou. For letting me thank God you’re mine. For agreeing it’s a fair game to reference songs whenever. Because I want to _tell you gratefully. Every single beat in my heart is yours to keep_ —”

As per usual, Harry gets cut off midway through his intended quote by a kiss. It feels great to have Louis pressing a smile against his lips. Much better than to have his spouse shivering in his arms because of a decade-old threat from somebody who still makes Harry’s blood boil and Louis’s blood run cold.

It’s rather poetic that his spouse plans to win their legal battles in cold blood, preparing to desecrate their defendants with a hailstorm of cold hard truths until all their guilty offenders fall from grace.

Sometimes Harry fancies himself as Nala, in their very own Circle of Life, counting down to the day her Simba finally executes their decrepit old Scar. Then two of them will build a family together on Pride Rock and live happily ever after.

In summary, there are countless reasons, artistic and personal, that Harry’s favourite Disney film is the Lion King.

It’s potentially difficult to explain if anyone asks him why, given that he will refuse to watch the film he claims to love so adamantly. No matter when the suggestion comes up or who extends the movie night invitation, unless that person is Louis, Harry’s answer will always be a firm ‘No, thank you.’

Fortunately, others will also simply accept Harry’s rejection of such offers, no offence taken. Because three of his best mates will spread a rumour like wildfire.

‘Never forget to give Harry Styles a trigger warning for the original Lion King movie. Or be prepared to feel like the worst kind of murderer by the time Can You Feel The Love Tonight rolls around.’

All of them are well adapted to telling no truth with no lie. Except Louis. Harry thinks the love of his life is genuinely good at telling the truth with all the lies.

(Often saddled with a legally-binding task and a leading question to deny the existence of their romance, his spouse once acted like a realistically-animated antihero. Sitting in front of the camera with a seemingly strong urge to commit homicide, Louis had said, tone dripping with venomous sarcasm, “So I think it’s one of these things that people just love to buy into. But in reality, obviously, there’s no truth to it. Obviously.”

Louis had been so steeped in resentful anger after that condescending interview. Harry spent so much time that night trying to elevate his sullen sweetheart’s mood.

When he ran out of ideas, he did what any regular person would do. He googled it. Then he hit a jackpot with the giant search engine’s default dictionary.

Harry proceeded to proudly present his findings to his spouse: the definition of a **ruse** and, so absurdly fittingly, the name of Louis’s assigned PR girlfriend in its example sentence.

> **ruse**
> 
> /ro͞oz,ro͞os/
> 
> _noun_
> 
> noun: **ruse** ; plural noun: **ruses**
> 
> an action intended to deceive someone; a trick.
> 
> “Eleanor tried to think of a ruse to get Paul out of the house.”

Finally, Harry got love of his life to laugh delightedly. He received a token of sincere appreciation from Louis soon after. A token so scandalously aphrodisiac that Harry would never ever share with anyone else.)


	2. the devil’s in the details, but you got a friend in me

Harry had never considered his reckless tendency to overshare as something positive.

Nor had he thought his serious inaptitude with technology could bring him anything but a disaster.

Never in a million years could Harry have predicted the way those two things would collide and ignite a fire that would eventually bring about the downfall of two labels in the music industry.

He remembered them becoming the catalyst that turned two rebellious geniuses into a formidable team so vividly.

This was how it started.

Harry had thought his impulsive effort to reassure his boyfriend would turn into a spectacular train wreck when an anxiety-inducing text arrived, just as he was getting a ‘just a ship’ tattooed for Louis.

[TS: The paps leaked your locale. You’ll need a buffer. I’ll be there in a few.] 

He had looked on from InkBed in horror after his colleague got bored waiting. She told him to learn more about IT security and showed him that she had somehow bypassed the lockscreen on his phone.

And worse, or better in hindsight, she started narrating while texting Louis. Harry was feeling more than alarmed. His boyfriend should’ve been asleep instead of answering not!his messages. He wouldn’t have left home to come to the tattoo parlour if he had know Louis would wake up in the middle of the night without him there.

Harry remembered his dread quietly morphing into morbid fascination as he listened to the back-and-forth between two of the smartest musicians he had ever known.

He could recite every word of that conversation after rereading it a million little times. Because it’s one of the tangible evidences that Louis had always been willing to do a lot for Harry. A lot.

Even when his boyfriend must’ve been hurting.

Even after Louis just cried himself to sleep that night.

Because Louis found it so, so unfair that somebody else was told to wear Harry’s winter coat out in public—where Louis and Harry weren’t allowed to hold hands anymore.

[We need to talk.] 

[L: Ominous. Home soon? xx]

[Sorry, that wasn’t Harry. This is Taylor. Taylor Swift.]

[L: Is he okay? What’s going on?]

[He’s alright. The tattoo looks quite painful though. It’s free paps fest here. Thought you should know before surprise pics. Also, can I have your number?] 

[L: You’re texting me. You’ve already got my number.]

[No, I don’t. This is Harry’s phone.] 

[L: So much to unpack here but idk you well enough to say what’s on my mind. Just sent a hello. Check your own phone.]

[You already have my number? Rude.]

[L: Says the person texting me from someone else’s phone.]

[Do you always refer to your loved ones as someone else? Or is it just Harry?]

[L: We need to talk.]

And the rest, they said, was history.

**Author's Note:**

> 💙💚 Thank you for reading! If you like it, please feel free to leave a comment or poke a Kudo to let me know 💕🏡
> 
> \- Mymelodii🎶


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